


The things you do to me

by Purrrkwood



Series: Playing Gods [1]
Category: Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: A bit of sadness, First Meetings, M/M, Prequel, Tullio really deserves to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purrrkwood/pseuds/Purrrkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“So, you’re basically looking for someone who lets you drink all the wine you need and helps you make it through the night without being stabbed or something.”</i><br/>“Obviously.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tullio just wants to keep living the way he lives, hiding in the shadows of his fears and old habits. Miguel really doesn't agree on this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The things you do to me

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, so! This is the first time I ever post a work written in english, since it's not my first language. This isn't beta-ed, so I hope I didn't make terrible errors and I apologize for eventual ones :3

The first time he only learns his name.

He’s sitting at his usual seat, in his usual decrepit café. He waves the usual glass of tequila in his hand, he looks at the liquor swaying inside and pretends that that’s the sea and a ship is riding those waves. A ship, with him on board, ready to lead him to his good luck and to wealth. A great, limitless wealth.

León keeps talking, like nothing’s happening. He cleans a glass and talks, he serves drinks and talks. In the meantime, Tullio thinks because, even if that sea is made of alcohol, surely that ship requires a ticket. Money. Jingling coins, what he’s dreaming of is exactly what he needs if he wants to leave. For someone like him, that would be nothing: an incursion in the right house at the right time and, with a little luck, he would manage to gather quite the treasure. He would rather rob some idiot at a good card game, but to make serious money you have to go to serious places and it’s really not worth it, they would laugh at him: he’s too young, they would mistake him for a pickpocket and throw him out, right into the pig pen, and that would be the best of cases. But a nice house has not a minimum age. Quite the contrary: the younger you are, the greater is your fame if you succeed, once rumors start to spread in the most infamous alleys of the city. It would be as simple as drinking that bloody tequila. The problem is that because of some bunch of idiots who couldn’t even steal from a blind man, the rich ones are now on the alert: houses are better guarded and Tullio knows that entering one of those alone would mean surrendering willingly to the guards – so he might as well shoot himself and preserve the little dignity he still has.

“I told you, if you need help I can find you someone quickly.” He looks up when he realizes León is now talking to him. His eyebrow arches: “Oh, really?”

“Don’t you trust me? You hurt me, yes, but you’re nice. You’re not the only one who wants to go away, youngsters like you have more chance in Barcelona, or Valencia than here. Or Madrid, why not?”

“Madrid sucks.” Tullio drinks what’s left of the liquor “Only dust and noise, too many guards and too few escapes. I prefer to stay close to the sea, I like the ambience.”

“Yes, yes, do you want this name or not?”

Actually, he would rather stay alone, without having to suffer someone else’s company, someone he doesn’t know who will try to rob him at the first good opportunity. Just thinking about sharing his gold with another person fills him with indignation and he would surely feel the same way if it were his best friend.

If he had any friend, of course.

“He’s a good lad, yes. A half-mad, but a loyal one. I’m ready to bet you’ll become friends.” León seems to read his mind. That wouldn’t surprise him, since he’s the person he has spent most of his time with, probably the closer to a friend. The last to give him love was his father, when he was still alive and Tullio was still thirteen and loved life. It’s not that he wishes he was dead now, he’s too proud and selfish, but he’s quite sure he doesn’t have that spark in his eyes anymore. It expired when he realized that his father had lived his whole life being a honest man and was rewarded with a seven days agony in the ravings of fever. It expired when his last link with the world was broke. 

He remembers his father’s last words: “It’s worth it, son, it’s worth it!”. He didn’t explain what he was talking about, he didn’t have the time, but it actually doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, Tullio is sure that sooner or later he would have realized it was the contrary; there’s nothing really worth working hard for.

He throws his head backwards and sighs. If his father saw him now, he would laugh at him. _You’re too serious, boy! Don’t worry so much, old age is made for complaining!_ And suddenly he feels old.

***

He officially hates him.

Miguel is looking at him, rather amused, sitting on the stone wall, swaying the bag with his part of the treasure in his hand. They had little time, but they have gathered all they need for the journey and a lot more. Tullio will never admit it, but that silly blonde has a talent in recognizing valuable things. Too bad he’s a total idiot, apart from that. He still remembers the curse that escaped his lips when he saw him jumping from the rooftop without a rope; just before his fell was stopped by a lucky tree branch, Tullio had seen him splashed to the ground with little elegance. Miguel didn’t even blink, as if his action was perfectly normal and Tullio was stupid not understanding it.

“So, when do we leave?” Tullio would gladly rip that smile off his face. There is something about it that drives him mad and for him, always trying to keep calm and impassive, it’s simply unacceptable. It takes a few seconds before his brain actually process the question.

“Whenever you want,” he answers “You’ve got the money: you can take a horse, a ship, you can jump off a bridge, you are free to choose.”

“I wouldn’t travel by horse for all the money in this city.” The coins in the bag jingle “Those beasts hate me. Moreover, everything you need to survive and defend yourself from bandits costs more than a journey by boat. At least on a boat you have granted food. And I hope you are not offended if I refuse that bridge idea. Where will you go?”

“Where I want.”

“So you sail and get off when you find an inspiring place?”

“Sort of.”

“You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“No.”

Miguel shrugs. He smiles, again, and Tullio feels the urge to strangle him, again. What’s worse, he knows that it won’t end tonight, because it would be too good to make some money and get rid of all the problems in the same day. He would run, before it’s too late, but he doesn’t have time to avoid the suggestion. That suggestion:

_ Let’s travel together. _

“I mean, I’m completely alone, you are completely alone, that would be a nice solution, don’t you think? I don’t really care about the destination, so if you have something in your mind, do tell me and I’ll follow.” And there it is, that bastard: the compassion. He can see it in the eyes of his partner, who is not a stupid, but just like everyone else. Miguel is similar and different from him at the same time: he has no money, no home, perhaps not even a family, just like so many of those who live in the outskirts. And still he smiles, and wishes Tullio smiled as well.

But Tullio can’t do that. He has forgotten how to smile and he doesn’t want to learn again. He doesn’t want to give a chance to that wheat haired fool, who acts like they were best friends even though they have known each other for less than a day. And above all, he doesn’t want to see dreams and expectations fill his heart, only to wake up and be disappointed. It would be so damn good and nice let that oppressive wall fall down, that wall that protects him and suffocates him at the same time, closing over him like a blanket that doesn’t let him breath, but he can’t. It has become part of him, stitched to his skin with invisible strings that sometimes he can almost feel; and if he tried to remove it, he himself would be torn to shreds. He can’t cut the strings and so he accepts them like they had always been there. He lets them control him like a puppet because, to be honest, it a lot easier this way. It’s not satisfying, but it’s easy.

Miguel, pulling the wall-blanket toward himself, cannot see the cords and every word, every symbolic tug, opens a wound. And Tullio can’t, he just _can’t._ His breath shortens, his hand tremble.

And Tullio flees.

***

Tullio walks.

Miguel walks.

Tullio is starting to get nervous.

Miguel is dying of laughter.

He knew he had been stupid when he saw those blond hair on the deck: after all, it was obvious he would follow him and now it won’t be easy to get rid of him. Everyone had always surrendered before his stubborness and his complete rejection of any human bond, but he doesn’t. It is like Miguel has solemnly swore to be his shadow, and from the moment they have boarded, four days ago, one whole hour has not passed without his shape to appear in his vision field. Tullio would gladly throw him off board, along with his fucking nurse instinct, taking care of the sick without desponding if he refuses the cure. Miguel violates his personal space, he denies him silence and solitude, he feeds him with smiles and jokes. And he keeps pulling the strings and Tullio is forced to indulge not to get hurt too much.

He turns around and his glare, apparently, is full enough of hatred to make the other freeze on his spot.

“Which part of ‘leave me alone’ is not clear to you?” he hisses, is face so close to the other’s he can feel the warmth of his breath.

“The one when you tell me to leave you alone, even though you clearly want the opposite.”

The answers has him completely wrong-footed. No, it infuriates him.

“I don’t know how this works where you come from, but if I tell you ‘go away’, I mean ‘go away’ and not ‘stay with me and become my friend’. If I wanted that I would ask you. Go annoy someone else.”

“Ha! I would do it if I could, you know? But you’re the only one I know here and you know I don’t like being alone.” Miguel snorts and Tullio grins. He doesn’t smile, he grins, because he doesn’t know how to smile.

“Oh, you have no friends? I’m sure with that pretty face of yours you can find quickly a woman to entertain. You’ve certainly done this before.”

“Of course. And not just with women, if you know what I mean. The problem is, I don’t know if you have noticed, people here are… I don’t know, don’t they look weird to you? I tell you what happens if I make friends with one of them: I get drunk, I say something compromising and I wake up in the sea. Or dead. Or dead in the sea.”

“So, you’re basically looking for someone who lets you drink all the wine you need and helps you make it through the night without being stabbed or something.”

“Obviously.”

There is a pause, a few long moments during which, in some remote corner of his mind, Tullio realizes it’s really not possible to win an argue with Miguel. At least _he_ can’t and never will, given his temper. Miguel is all jokes and endless energy and it doesn’t matter how evil Tullio’s comments will be, those bloody smiles will always be stronger.

Miguel has subverted the laws of his logic with pure nonsense. And for Tullio, sense and logic had always been a fixed point. Somewhere he hears something creak: it’s the sound of his convictions cracking and threaten to collapse under the blows of the enemy. It’s not possible, It’s just not possible that such a level of stupidity exists.

He stares at him one last time.

And then he bursts out laughing.

It isn’t one of his usual sarcastic laugh, without any joy apart from that of defeating someone. It’s not his sadistic sneer in front of an opponent who has lost all his money. He is laughing. It’s something he thought he had forgot, buried under years spent wearing masks, and that now is emerging so forcefully he feels shaken; and be him damned if he doesn’t like it. When he finally opens his eyes he finds the teary, but even trough the tears he can see that Miguel’s smile has enlarged so much he doesn’t even look human. Maybe Miguel is not human, for no sane man would persist in wasting his time with the pathological case he knows he has become.

Then his smile falls. The sound of his laugh still echoes in his ears and Tullio takes leave with a quick bye, more embarrassed than other. Walking across the deck he feels the wind on his cheeks and he realizes they’re burning. He precipitates in his cabin, throws himself on the bed and remains there, motionless, looking at the ceiling. The silence is only broke by the waves crashing against the boat’s hull, some muffled voices from beyond the wall and a silent question.

_ What the hell have you done to me? _

***

“I don’t want to intrude.”

Miguel speaks as soon as they get off the ship, while both of them still don’t realize they’re on solid ground and feel it swaying. Tullio suddenly turns around and there he stands, with his few belongings in the bag over his shoulder and an apologetic smile on his face.

“What do you mean?” the thing is he has stopped asking questions by now, about why that blonde idiot was always by his side. By this time, everything has become normal. He has accepted it like you accept the color of your eyes: that’s it. And he doesn’t understand what the other is talking about. 

“Maybe you were right, I should learn to mind my own business. It is the reason why I can’t stay with someone for too long, I tend to become annoying and with time everyone gets tired of me. I am really sorry.”

_ Sorry… _ Tullio’s mind is working like it has never worked before, _sorry for being a pain in the ass, for violating your sacred privacy, for not leaving when you asked, for trying to break the strings…_

“The fact is that when I meet someone I like I just can’t control myself…”

_ For forcing you to be my friend, for imposing all my smiles… _

“But I admit I wouldn’t like it if someone forced me to be someone I am not.”

_ For remaining by your side, when everyone had left. _

“Thank you.” He realizes he has said it when he sees Miguel’s eyes widen and the expression on his face of someone who’s not sure of what he has just heard. He also realizes he should say something more.

“Actually, maybe I needed it.”

_ No, wait, what? _

“I’ve been on my own for so long that I don’t know how to deal with other people, and being honest… I think I missed it.”

_ What the hell have you done to me? _

Miguel looks at him like he couldn’t have given a better answer and Tullio feels cheated in some way. And yes, he does not care. He cannot explain himself why he is suddenly starting to appreciate that closeness. He, who was alone only two weeks before and was convinced he would spend his entire life that way, captive of his invisible strings and his blanket. Now he moves and discovers that the strings are loose, like a piece of fabric that deforms after too much pulling.

“So, what do you want now?”

Tullio shrugs. Better not to ask too many questions, he still thinks this is all a dream; ha wants to wake up as late as possible and have the time of his life in the meantime.

“I want to be shamefully rich. Is it a good answer?”

Looks like it is.

“As long as we share and have fun.”

“You are a fucking superficial.”

“Ah, and you are not?”

And what the hell is that need to laugh that keeps growing in his chest? It scares him, or perhaps he likes it. He tries to convince himself it is due to the change of life, to his new home, but the truth is…those butterflies in the stomach, he doesn’t feels them when he looks at the stalls or at the streets full of people.

He just will never admit it.

***

He admits him a month later.

He does it in a warm night in early autumn, when it’s still warm enough to think that summer will last forever. He does it while they’re both sitting on an old stone wall and look at the square below, when Miguel gives him a pat on the back strong enough to make him fall – luckily on the right side.

“Your usual luck.” Miguel offers him his hand to help him stand, but when he is finally standing Tullio forgets he’s holding it. They both forget, actually, like the entire world has been closed in a giant bubble and they were left outside.

“I would have survived just to kick you in your ass.”

_ In that pretty face of yours. _

“The funny thing is that I don’t doubt it at all.”

_ In every inch of your body. _

_ Every. _

_ Fucking. _

_ Inch. _

It’s too late when he realizes about the hands. About that and the fact that they have come really close to each other and Tullio feels again the other’s breath on his face, only this time is much faster and nervous than the last time on the ship, when he provoked him. Tullio thinks none of that makes sense, that it’s all a twist of fate. For a moment, he thinks it’s all wrong, that he shouldn’t be there, in that position, with that person; that he should have stayed back home letting life slip away, because it was damn easier than accepting the wave of emotions that’s overwhelming him now.

_ Of your beautiful body. _

“I owe León fifty pesetas, if we ever see him again.” He whispers those words with half-closed eyes, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Why?” Miguel slightly parts his lips and Tullio closes them with his. It does so without realizing it, it’s a purely instinctive and unreal act. Then everything becomes real: real are Miguel’s hands tightening on his hips then on his back, pulling him toward himself like there’s still some space to fill; real is his skin under his fingers and the satisfied moan that escapes his lips when Tullio lifts him to make him sit on the wall. He tightens his grip on his shirt, pulling it; and there they are, the strings, finally breaking one by one like they’re made of gossamer, and his invisible blanket flying away with the wind and the scent of the sea. With everything he had been until now.

Right now, Tullio has completely forgotten about gold.


End file.
